


Release the Beast

by inacolloquialsense



Category: Impractical Jokers
Genre: Gen, M/M, but you know one thing leads to another maybe, more friendship than anything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-08
Updated: 2016-11-08
Packaged: 2018-08-29 20:06:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8503627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inacolloquialsense/pseuds/inacolloquialsense
Summary: Quinn defending James in a fight. It goes less than ideal. What did you expect?based on a doctor who writing meme i think. “You are worth fighting for.” otherwise known as “Two hits. I hit you, you hit the ground.” (in q’s dreams [well in mine also])





	

This is where the rubber hits the road. Where boys are proved to be men. Where Q is fairly certain he’s going to get his shit pushed in, but ah, he did it for love. Is there a more noble cause. No. And fuck any noise to the contrary. 

At 6′2″ and wide as a barn the dude in front of Brian looks like a good guy to avoid. Why does a person of this strength and stature feel the need to demoralize a relative pipsqueak like Murr? Quinn curses the antiquated need to defend the honor of his (what would he call James; not a boyfriend, partner is much too formal, occasional blowjob and hatefuck buddy) friend.

“Shit head. Why don’t you wipe some of the mud out of your thick skull, and get the fuck out of here.” Brian is not young enough for this to be a reasonable idea. “Yeah you heard me, fucko.” He is entirely too sober. “You think I’m afraid of you?” The answer is yes. A resounding and absolutely positive yes.

“Excuse me?” Thick northern accent. Loud and concise. Powerful like the hand used to shove Q back a few steps. “I must got some mud in my ears. You talkin’ to me?”

Murr wedges himself in between the two others. “C’mon guys. Just stop.” He faces his friend. “Brian, please, let’s get out of here.” The taller stranger makes a move, and Murray’s survival instinct has him four paces back in a matter of milliseconds. Still he pleads with Q, now only his eyes. A real kind of panic wrinkles his face. 

This isn’t funny. 

Quinn hears it clear as thunder in his head. His throat is dry, muscles twitching. “Sorry, guy. I misspoke.” He’s ready to turn tail. That buzz from the six watered down draft beers is doing not a god damn thing for him. “We’ll get out of your hair.”

The dude straightens his spine, like the dumb fucking peacock he is. “That’s what I thought. You pussies should get out of this bar. The Rainbow is on the other side of town.”

Sucker punch or not, that guy’s stomach was solid. It hurt like hell. Brian clutched at his hand, cursing. “Oh, shit.” Murr and he booked it. Two middle-aged white men in jeans running down the sparsely lit streets. Scared shitless at the outraged yell of a person who could crush their skulls together like they were fucking looney toon characters.

“Why would you do that?!” James said. He grabbed Q’s uninjured hand. Pulling left they got to a more populated street.

Though he wasn’t certain, Quinn thought he could still hear footsteps behind him. “For you! What do you mean?” He would sound more outraged, but he was getting out of breath. “That guy called you a faggot and threatened to slap you around.”

“Asshole! I didn’t ask for you to do that.” A quick look behind confirmed his suspicions. They weren’t being followed. “Look at your hand. That’s gonna bruise, for sure.” Murr cradled Q’s palm in his own, then flipping it over to splay his thick fingers. At least he didn’t hit the man in the face or else he’d definitely need stitches. For now just reddened knuckles.

Anxiety bubbled up through laughter. “Well, ah, you’re worth fighting for.” Brian sucked in air. “Owww.” James looked up at him angrily, and he shut his trap. 

“You’ve got big, dumb meat hooks for hands.” Murr dropped Q’s wrist.

“But that was pretty cool. Wasn’t it?” Quinn was smiling twice as cheesy now. Raised eyebrows for added effect. “I’m like your protector, right?” He elbowed Murr.

“Alright. Whatever.” Murray took about six steps on his own, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t relieved when Q matched his stride within a few seconds. “Let’s get drunk.”


End file.
